01 | All lies and jests; still a man hears what he wants to hear

[sinistral]

WHO: the Winter Soldier (sinistral) and you
WHERE: Calibrations waiting room, calibration room, and network
WHAT: midway through the Calibrations cycle, the Agrii decided they needed another victim "he row"
WHEN: 06/28 through 07/10
WARNINGS: Literally every calibration room prompt will have elements of violence and torture (physical and mental).

---

SECRET TUNNEL
→ Waiting Room;

This is complete bullshit. Complete. Bullshit. The Soldier has strong feelings as it is about waking up in a place entirely different from where he'd gone to sleep. It had happened far too much in his life and invariably makes him tense and irritable; between HYDRA and the Atroma — and apparently these Agrii now — he's just done.

The tunnel looks nothing like the Marsiva or the other ships of the Fleet but has him on guard regardless. He's pretty sure they'd escaped that imprisonment, won their way free of the Atroma. Certainly he's seen no evidence of them in the year since. But perhaps they'd gotten too lax in their freedom, in the rush of exploration and enjoyment of each other's company.

It's possible anyway.

Still, he can't focus on that right now, and certainly attempting to break out hadn't worked. Had the impact of a metal fist against the wall woken anyone? Potentially not, if this really is like the Calibrations he remembers, the way sleepers couldn't be woken once they'd drifted off. Or perhaps people will hear it and come looking. Doesn't much matter to him and he gives it up quickly enough when he sees that it's not doing any good anyway.

Well, whatever.

After a last glare at the tunnel he returns to the interior chamber and proceeds to go over every inch of it. Under the Atroma, it was impossible to escape the Calibrations area until those beings decided their time was up. If this really is modeled after that there'll be no escape, but he still intends to make sure. Perhaps some detail has been overlooked.

→ Calibrations Room;

The room itself is plain, utilitarian. The walls might be grey, or a grimy institutional beige. The only furnishings are a large glass-and-metal tubular chamber in the corner and a metal table in the center of the room with a single lightbulb hanging above it; an old incandescent bulb sheds yellowy light on the surface of the table and not much further.

On the table rests a sniper rifle, a combat knife, and a mouthguard. There appears to be no one in residence.

NETWORK
→ Text;

The Drift Fleet. Atroma. Calibrations. If you know what I'm talking about, speak up.

[That's it that's the message.]

WILDCARD
→ Elsewhere;

Want something else? Have an idea? Hit me up at sometimesamuse or via PM. Open to wherever, whatever, and though I write starters in prose I'm more than happy to switch to brackets if it's your preference.

Comments

waiting room

[theladyofwinterfell]

Sansa has been miserable having to live out her grief with no privacy but there's nothing she can do about it. No amount of crying alone into her pillows will bring Tyrion back and she has to be both a mother and, frankly, becoming of her crown. She's tried to infuse her spine with the steel she's always had to have.

Her hair is damp from showering and the baby is with Steve and Bucky. She's not proud of herself when she trembles at the sight of a man clad in black, weaving in and out of shadow as if he belongs to it. She's been tricked before. It must be the other James, the one who doesn't know her - except.

Sansa draws closer and there's just something about his gait that makes her think this one is the right one. There's only one way to tell. She doesn't draw close enough that he might whirl on her but she speaks softly.

"I haven't done squats in two and a half years."

[sinistral]

He's not unaware of someone entering the common space from what he assumes, from the markings on the door, to be bathing facilities. The smell of damp air tinted with cleansers confirms that fact, and he positions himself to observe both the newcomer, and the room at large. Perhaps the presence of another person will change something? He doubts it very much, but he's seen stranger things.

The face though — that gets him. He knows that face, and well, though it too could be a trick. As such he continues his exploration of the texture of the wall while keeping the woman in his periphery. He can be patient, can observe to see if the behavior matches that which he remembers, or if this whole thing will out itself as something even more complicated.

What he doesn't expect is those words, in that tone of voice. It resonates with his memory, the pieces slotting into place: appearance, bearing, tone. What doesn't mesh is the timeline, but that hadn't been entirely out of the possibility of Atroma influence either.

He turns to her more fully, face still mostly expressionless. But, if she's really who he thinks she is, she'll be more than used to that. "Then you owe me a lot more than the twenty from our last training session."

[theladyofwinterfell]

"I'll give you forty," Sansa says, lip trembling more than she wants it to. Gods, but she never thought that herJames would come here but she'd been wrong. Tyrion left and Sansa is here with James; they're even picking up the same banter they had before.

Sansa closes the distance between them in a few steps and tries to hug him as close as possible. She knows touch isn't always welcome but right now, she hopes that it is.

"I'm alone here. I lost Tyrion and I'm having to raise our child alone."

[sinistral]

"Fifty," he replies, though it's absent the hard bargaining they used to drive for squats. Sansa's face is one he never thought he'd see again, after breaking from the Fleet, and for her to be here brings a twist of complicated emotions. And complicated questions too, though he puts them aside for now. She looks fragile in a way he's seen in her vulnerable times, and that takes priority over all else. That fragility has his allowing the hug, human arm curling around her back to hold her close.

"You're not alone." Not unless this is a dream or a trick, but the possibility of either seems low and it'd be needlessly cruel to mention besides. "A child now? Yours and Tyrion's?"

Calibrations

[brooklyn_boy]

Steve hates the room as soon as he walks into it. It reminds him of something but he can't quite touch onto what that is. All he can access is an itchy feeling of familiarity and the more concrete desire to be anywhere else than here. But that isn't how this works so he walks in and keeps his hands sunk into his pockets to make sure he touches absolutely nothing. Something tells him that the memories here are going to be as dangerous and painful as the weapons on the table.

Still, he walks closer to them. The sniper looks familiar. The knife looks familiar. And, when he finally turns and looks at the tubular chamber, that looks familiar, too. A thought comes to him, then. A sudden, likely insane thought. It's enough to get his hands out of his pockets and hovering by his side as Steve looks wildly around the room. Who's mind was this? Who's memories?

"Hello? Someone here?"

[sinistral]

There's a stirring of shadow in the corner. It's absolutely not at all dramatic, more the result of dark clothing in an ill-lit room. But the figure that comes closer to the table is as non-threatening as one can get while decked out head-to-toe in tactical gear, leather and kevlar and a tight, controlled expression.

"Nobody's here." He glances to the table's contents; they don't exactly surprise him. "Best not to touch anything and wait out the exit."

It's the easiest option, after all: wait, and the door opens. No pain, no mess. No giving up things that should, above all else, be private.

Waiting Roomish or just outside of it

[deal_me_in]

The surroundings save for the rooms they eventually open into look seamless, but it hasn't stopped the Exo from trying to find a loose panel somewhere. It's only because as the days have worn on, he's liked the idea less and less that they've possibly been herded in here for some kind of mental study.

There might not be an actual way out, but it's not keeping him from trying to find one anyway, on the off chance that someone missed a spot. At least that's what he's hoping for, although if it came down to a bet, he's not sure he'd put anything down for it.

He traces the tip of a rather long knife along a part of the wall, probably seeking a catch, but the line he'd thought he'd seen turns out to be just a scratch, not that he hasn't made plenty of his own with subtle defacings here and there.

[sinistral]

Apparently he's not the only one interested in looking for weaknesses in the structure, looking for a way out. That's gratifying; he'd hate to be stuck, sheep-like, herded into whatever these Agrii wish and complacent to it. Better to rail and fight; better to look for exits and make plans for the contingency of finding one.

"Any luck?"

He calls out to the searching figure, keeping well out of arm's reach in case he startles the way the soldier startles: attack first and ask questions later. Old habits die hard, after all, and the hyper-awareness trained into him by HYDRA has been useful in turn. The distance also gives him a chance at observation: the figure in front of him appears foreign to his sensibilities, but that doesn't have quite the effect it would have had on him before his first kidnapping by the Atroma. Aliens exist; it's simply a fact. Still, he doesn't think he's encountered one quite like this before.

[deal_me_in]

"Nnnnoop."

The Exo doesn't start in the least, squinting harder at the wall before he sighs and rises to his feet, his motions fluid as any living being for all that he appears to be robotic, at least if his face is anything to show for it. He flips his knife about between his fingers, sliding it into its sheath at his belt with practiced ease.

"Not a hole or a ventilation shaft to follow either. I mean, I guess there's the drains in the shower but I didn't pack any dynamite."

He shrugs, finally glancing towards the man who'd called out to him, his glowing blue gaze twitching slightly as he gives him a once-over. When he speaks, amber light fills the back of his throat. "I'm assuming you're not having much better?"

[sinistral]

"No guarantee the drains go anywhere other than a water recycling unit." Which he doesn't want to think about too closely, thank you very much. And yep, there he goes thinking about it. Ew.

At least the — alien? — seems comfortable in its metallic skin, judging by the way it smoothly moves and sheathes that knife. The motions almost bring a smile to his face; knives are comfortable companions and one can always depend on a good, strong blade. Idly he wonders about the rest of it, whether it's armor or something else, but it seems rude to open the conversation with those inquiries.

Not as rude as being kidnapped and forced to relive memories each night, but you know.

"You'd be correct." It's a strange gaze to meet, but strange has become somewhat normal anymore. "Not the first time I've been locked in a place like this, but I don't have to like it."

Network

[backoff]

I was briefly told about that situation. Would you be willing to offer more on the Atroma themselves?

[sinistral]

Was looking more for others who had first hand experience.

[backoff]

No specification on the directory. Only stated if you knew what you are talking about. I do. All I want to know is if you ever saw the Atroma or did they always remain unseen.

[sinistral]

But you weren't a member of the Fleet?

waiting room;

[hulkintraining]

Teddy tries to stay awake as much as he can, even though he knows that he'll eventually be dragged back into his room and off to sleep by some seemingly unstoppable force. But for now he's wide awake and pacing in one of the corridors near the waiting room. There's not much to do down here but pace and worry about being dragged through someone else's memories, or them through yours.

Then the loud banging that sounds like metal colliding with metal stirs him from his drifting thoughts. He'd thought no one else would be up at this time. He approaches the waiting room, making no attempts to hide his movements, and enters in time to see the man land another punch to the wall.

"While I appreciate the sentiment I feel I should let you know that that won't work."

He may or may not have some experience after enduring his first couple of calibrations. Now he's all but resigned to the fact that for as long as the Agrii want them down here, down here is where they will remain.

[sinistral]

Pace, worry, bang on the walls: sounds like the subject of a really bad song. Or one of those stories that's supposed to be an allegory for the human condition and falls far short on entertainment value. Joy of joys.

"Wasn't gonna believe it until I tried it." Though he's certainly starting to believe it now and while he could hit harder, it's only going to put stress on the flesh-and-blood parts of him and risk damage. He'd rather avoid that unless it becomes an inevitable necessity, considering he's not quite sure how he'd repair himself in this place.

How annoying.

He turns away from the wall — not a scratch! — and regards the newcomer. Or perhaps he's the newcomer, to put it more accurately. Anyway, eyes skate from head to toe, looking for familiarity and finding none. Well, that could be either really good, or really uncomfortable; there's only one way to find out. "Speaking from experience...?"

[hulkintraining]

He appraises the other man in return, gaze catching on his metal hand for an extended moment before rerouting to the man's face. Such prosthesis aren't very uncommon where he's from, so it does little to tell him whether he should know this man. Or a version of him. Without seeing her magic in action he wouldn't have recognized Wanda at first, the version of her here being so much younger and different from the woman he knows.

But if there's one thing he knows, it's that he hasn't seen this particular man around before now. Even while they're bunker-ed down here, the Agrii seem to be keeping busy.

Teddy leans his shoulder against the door frame and crosses his arms, appearing to get comfortable for their conversation. "I may have Hulked out a bit the first couple of days and tried to break the door down. As you can probably tell, it didn't do much good."

[sinistral]

"Of course it wouldn't be that easy." Still, worth trying; he's not the type to take being shoved into some underground bunker lightly — and that's not even mentioning the whole being kidnapped to this place thing. The Soldier rolls his left shoulder, settling the plates and joints after their workout before settling into a stance that, while not exactly relaxed, is at least a little less rigid.

"Had to try though. If nothing else, to let our captors know exactly how I feel about being caged." Which is to say, less than thrilled. And while a part of him is honestly glad that violence isn't the answer to this particular problem, the rest of him is a little annoyed because punching a hole in the wall would have been easier. Go figure.

Calibrations

[beholding_archivist]

Riiiiight, now this is a setting Jon feels RIGHT AT HOME in. Just a weird, uninviting room with a single metal table full of dreadful weapons.

"Charming." Jon says aloud, the word not matching the doubtful look he casts on the large rifle, never having encountered one of these before and not exactly liking what he is seeing. He isn't keen to touch it either, even knowing that this is how these places work. Instead, he looks around for the room's owner.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

[sinistral]

LOOK can you think of a more Calibrations-appropriate thing than a weird, uninviting room with a single metal table full of dreadful weapons? It's practically required!

That being said, the room isn't totally empty. Its occupant has been lurking in the shadows — which isn't even really a skill truth be told, the lighting is just that poor — but comes into the light at the inquiry. He's dressed about as grimly as the room, black tactical gear from head to toe, minus a left sleeve. The metal of his arm gleams dully when the light hits it.

"Nobody's here. Not really." He glances at the instruments on the table, not exactly surprised by them. "Probably best if you don't touch anything."

Because just waiting it out is the best idea ever, right? Nothing can possibly go wrong with that!

[beholding_archivist]

"Oh, h-hello, Bucky." Jon says, more automatically than anything else, but a certain amount of caution is obvious in the Archivist's voice. The last time he encountered this man, the other hadn't been too pleased. And Now Jon has shown up in his mind...

He casts a glance back down at the weapons, then shakes his head. "I haven't been planning to. It... Doesn't feel right." Especially not for him, who already can pull memories from others without these dreams.

"I... ah... I suppose you tend to use these outside such dreams." A guess.

[sinistral]

"My name isn't Bucky." It's an automatic response while the Soldier searches his own admittedly spotty memory and comes up blank. The face of his companion remains unknown to him and he can't help but wonder if this is going to lead to another uncomfortable encounter with someone insisting he should know them.

But at least there's something to talk about, he thinks as he watches the movement of eyes, the way his companion takes in the implements on the table. Not that there's much else in scenery, but still; the weapons themselves don't exactly hide their purpose. "In my experience, the ones who can cause dreams like this rarely care about the comfort or privacy of the participants." But he still finds it worthwhile to attempt preserving what little privacy can be had.

"I do," he says plainly, not seeing a reason to lie. "When I have to."

[seeingscarlet]

Some of us are still here

[sinistral]

It seems selfish to be grateful for that

[seeingscarlet]

No one should have to be alone in a place like this